The band played inconspicuously by the roadside, just another drummer, electric bass and a keyboard, and most people hardly noticed. They hurried about their lives, not taking the time to listen, at least consciously, to the music. But gradually, as they played on, the footsteps of passers-by would begin to sync up with the beat. An occasional stranger would slow down, intrigued by the music that seemed to grip his soul, force him to look. And the band played on.
They gathered an audience whose feet unconsciously shuffled to and fro, matching the rhythm of the snare and bass. Their fingers wiggled in time with the melody of the keyboard, and a warm feeling welled up within them so that they turned their faces upwards, as if basking in the sunlight. All smiles, the crowd grew larger, gathered closer.
When people started to fall over, the others were too taken over by the music to notice their neighbours dropping off beside them. Each new one who approached was similarly taken in, similarly incapacitated. And now the band stopped playing and began to pick among the unconscious bodies of their audience for wallets, phones, watches and rings, any small trinkets and valuables they could find. Their practiced fingers lifted gold earrings, silver necklaces and opal cufflinks with ease. Long before the crowd began to stir, the band was gone, taking with them a bounty of private valuables and the secret of their strange music.
Mokalus of Borg
PS - I am at Easterfest this weekend.
PPS - Hopefully none of the bands are these kind of musical magical pickpockets.
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